A drive and a friend

by Teresa Finney

“I don’t know what I did. She’s being incredibly distant and it’s hurting my feelings. We haven’t even hung out once since I moved here, AND I found out on fucking Facebook that her dog died. It’s like she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore? Do I sound 15 years old right now? I sound 15 years old.”

Mona let out a dramatic sigh and took a big puff off the cigarette she just lit, careful not to blow any smoke in Jessie’s direction.

“Kinda. But she’s really lame,” Jessie was driving. They sped down 101 passing palm trees on one side of the freeway and the Santa Cruz mountains on the other.

“She’s not though. I mean, not normally. But lately yeah, she’s been lame.”

“Anyone who doesn’t wanna hang out with you is lame.”

“Thanks.”

“Totally lame.”

“We’ve established she’s lame.”

“Embodiment of lame.”

“Enough.”

“I’m trying to help.” Jessie glanced at Mona who looked like she was about to cry.

“I don’t know what I did wrong.” Mona was not going to cry. Instead she lit another cigarette.

“You probably did nothing wrong. She’s just going through some shit right now.”

“And can’t talk to me? Her best friend?”

“Maybe she doesn’t consider you her best friend.”

“I thought you were tying to help.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Stop that. Stop just saying.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I just want you to know,” Jessie said, smiling as she passed a red Corvette, “That if I ever want to stop being your friend, I’ll tell you before I tell Facebook.”

“That means so much to me,” Mona said staring at the palm trees in the rearview mirror.